Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 62737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Foxy,” he grunts, fake admonishment in his tone.
“Jude,” I reply, mimicking him.
“What time do you need to be at the bar?”
“Six. We open later Monday through Wednesday and close at midnight.” I could have sworn I told Jude this before. Maybe I didn’t. The weekends are our busiest times, especially with Zane’s tattoo shop next door. While he won’t tattoo anyone remotely inebriated, that doesn’t stop them from having a strong drink afterwards.
“What about the rest of the week?” Obviously, I haven’t told him my schedule, and he’s probably used to the time I get back home instead of the exact time we close.
“Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, it’s four in the afternoon until two in the morning. Sundays, we’re closed, thankfully.” Usually, between Dad, Janelle, and myself, we can tackle it without being dragged through the mud.
“Sunday, I want you all to myself. The rest of the week, we’ll figure out once you know your hours.” He doesn’t ask, he states. And I really like it. He’s taking the guessing game out of the equation, allowing me not to make decisions, and damn, if that isn’t amazing.
“Sunday is yours. It’s usually really late because we’re doing end-of-the-week inventory and all the other shit that gets tossed by the wayside in the middle of the week.” Dad is in his semi-retirement state, and while he could tend bar while I do the monotonous shit or vice versa, he doesn’t. I’m going to have to eventually talk to him because doing it all while exploring the relationship that’s building with Jude means working to live, not living to work.
“Got no problem with that. Now, kiss your man, Foxy, and then we’ll head out of here.” His van is idling near my car. We’ve kept both running with the air conditioning on full blast, and I have a feeling we’re both going to need it to cool down after my lips meet his. There’s no such thing as a quick kiss when it comes to the two of us, it’s more along the lines of a hot and heavy make-out session where we both become lost in the other, and I freaking love every minute of it.
--
“Time for bed for you,” Jude tells me a couple of hours later after we arrive back at his place. We worked together seamlessly. When I packed up the inside earlier today, I was smart and placed things together to make it easier to grab and go. The laundry got started right away, our clothes mixed together, and Jude made no qualms about it. Then it was transferring all the cold stuff from one fridge to the other. Once that was done, Jude wrapped everything up with the outside of the van while I did a clean sweep of the floors, wiped down every surface, and called it good to go.
“I’m going to switch the laundry over, and then I will.” I let out a yawn, realizing I’m more tired than I initially thought. I’d already ducked into his bathroom to take a quick shower, and now it’s his turn.
“Meet you in bed.” He’s shirtless, much like he’s been most of the weekend. His tattoo is out in the open, healing exactly like mine.
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing a wave of desire when he shoots me a wink. I got a quick tour when Jude showed me where the kitchen, laundry room, and pantry were. From there, I was on my own. Which meant I snooped. At first, I almost didn’t, worried he’d be upset, but it’s not like we haven’t invaded each other’s space all weekend.
I finish moving the towels from the washer to the dryer. I already finished our darks and whites, hung up what needed to be line dried and folded what was dry. Then I turn off the light to walk toward Jude’s bedroom. As I do, I catalogue the living room. It’s big and full of lush furniture, including dark brown leather couches and knotty pine coffee end tables, plus a console table, which has a massive-as-hell television mounted to the wall above.
There’s a pool in the backyard, surrounded by a massive outdoor space, and I immediately clocked the ashtray on the table he has out there. Most people would find a man smoking repulsive. I don’t. And while it’s bad for his health, and there is cause to worry, everyone has a vice they should probably kick. It’s up to the individual to do the heavy lifting.
I move through the rest of the house. It’s clean, kind of on the sparse side in the form of décor, and mainly has the needs and not the wants. Unlike mine, where it’s the more the merrier. My brother and father like to make fun of me because there isn’t a garage sale I could walk past, never mind being unable to pass up buying some little trinket.